


Flame

by lar_laughs



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Alternate Universe - Vegas, Gen, satedan food, wraith as mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lar_laughs/pseuds/lar_laughs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he's ever wanted to do was cook.  It feels as if Ronon has finally found the perfect fit where he feels comfortable making the food that he loves.  When things appear to be falling apart, John comes up with the idea that pulls the restaurant back from the brink of ruin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caersmane](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=caersmane), [Caers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caers/gifts).



> This is a gift for caersmane, written for the [Satedan Grabass](http://satedan-grabass.livejournal.com/) 2013 Thing-A-Thon. I used the prompts _gen, friendship and AU_ but _different types of food in the pegasus galaxy_ gave me the inspiration for the plot!

Ronon dipped the tip of his finger into the bubbling soup in the deep pot. Even a small taste brought a smile to his face. He nodded his approval at the young woman biting her lip. “It didn’t kill me, Amelia.” If that bit of praise wasn’t enough to bring more than a startled smile to her face, he added, “We’ll put it on tomorrow’s menu.”

There was a spattering of applause around the busy kitchen. It wasn’t often that anyone was able to get past the head chef’s stern exterior. A spot on the menu, a grouping of dishes that Ronon liked to call Satedan fare even though no one was exactly sure what that meant, was virtually unheard of among the ever-rotating staff. They came on for a few months, usually no more than six, for the excellent experience and then went on to bigger kitchens. Or, in the case of the few people who had cracked under the strain of working for such a task master, into a job outside of culinary arts.

The cheers turned to groans as Ronon turned his head, glowering around the room in the slow sweep of his head that never failed to gain a deep silence. “Right. We’ve got a full house coming tonight. All those people will be expecting perfection. What will we be giving them?”

“Perfection, chef.” 

A smile tugged at one corner of Ronon’s mouth. “Yes, we will. Get to it.” Without a backward glance, Ronon left his staff to the day’s preparations. He had to get all the distractions out of the way before he could concentrate on cooking. 

Today’s distraction proved to be harder to find than usual. Woolsey wasn’t in his office, waiting patiently to go over the bookings and run down the produce orders like they couldn’t afford three heads of cabbage if two would do just as well. Ronon huffed out an exasperated breath. He knew full well that he was going to have to sit through the meeting, but he always liked to do it on his own terms. Better to get it over with now than when he was steeped in his work, unable to do more than growl and huff at the manager of the restaurant like a caged animal.

There were voices coming from the main dining room, loud and strident even here behind the scenes. As much as Ronon hated going into the spotless room where he felt like a bull in a china shop, he knew he would find Woolsey if he followed the noise.

Sure enough, the slight, balding man was standing as straight and tall as he could. Even with his ramrod stance, Woolsey was no match for the men currently pulling out all the intimidation tactics they taught bouncers on the Strip. These guys were a dime a dozen in Las Vegas, all identical with their dark suits, mirrored sunglasses and bad haircuts. This particular group, he noticed, were also in need of a tan. It would have been odd enough in any other city but it was downright creepy to be so pale in the Southern Nevada desert.

As much as he hated to join in on business conversations, Ronon knew he was needed here more than in the kitchen at the moment. He came to stand behind Woolsey, his arms crossed over his chest and his face set in a scowl. In his early days in Vegas, he’d had to make a living before he found a restaurant that would take him in so he’d made money wherever he could. That often meant working the front door of a club, so he knew all about intimidation techniques.

“Tell Michael he has no claims on this establishment. I don’t care what documentation he has. We’ve owned the lease free and clear for five years.”

“He doesn’t want the building,” one of the men sneered. “You need to read your rental lease on your furniture one more time. Be sure to do it before tonight because we’ll be back at a minute past midnight for every stick of it in this place.”

“What? This furniture?” Everyone turned to face the new arrival. John Sheppard stood on one of the chairs, another held in his hands. He looked every bit the playboy that the local papers made him out to be, perhaps a bit too much with the five o’clock shadow and tired eyes giving away that whatever he’d been up to lately, it hadn’t been sleeping.

One of the tall men started forward as John brought the chair crashing down on a table. Both pieces of furniture fell to pieces as even Woolsey started to protest. In the midst the clamor, John picked up another chair and repeated his performance with a satisfied smile.

“Looks like fun,” Ronon muttered loud enough for the men closest to hear him. He picked up a chair and ruined it against what had once been a spotless wall. Instead of throwing away the wooden slats he was left holding, he brandished them toward the interlopers. “But I think I prefer beating these against thick skulls. Care to offer up yours?”

The kitchen staff had gathered around the room when the shouting started. Now, they began to clap and stomp as if they were watching a cage match, cheering for their favorite contender. That it was Ronon made his lips curve into a predatory smile. When he’d spared them a look, he’d noticed that all had come out with a pan or knife. If things started going sideways, he knew he’d have backup.

There was another crack from the other side of the room drew everyone’s attention. The Head of Security had entered the fray with her two smooth sticks up and at a defensive position. Teyla’s expression said everything as she stayed silent, daring their visitors to cause trouble.

“We’ll be back,” the leader murmured as the well-dressed thugs exited, “and we’ll be taking all the furniture, broken or not. Tonight, ask your guests if they’ll be back to sit on the floor.”

Even though the room was full of people, it was completely silent. No one dared to make a sound in case they broke the spell they were suddenly under. Ronon was the first to shake himself out of it. “I don’t care where anyone eats my food. They don’t come here for our chairs.” He turned to nod at John and then Teyla. With both of them on the job, he could get back to what made him happy. Nothing was more satisfying than searing a piece of meat to the perfect state of doneness or crafting a dessert that was both pleasing to the eye and to the palate. When people looked at him, he knew they saw something other than a master chef but he didn’t care, as long as they let him feed them.

“Back to the kitchen,” Ronon bellowed over his shoulder at the gathered kitchen crew. Most of them scurried back to their place but there were still a few that caught the smile on his face before they left the room.

***

“That was a stupid thing to do, John.”

With a sigh, John turned to face Richard Woolsey instead of heading down the hall to his office. It was better to get these little discussions over with as quickly as possible so that the general manager didn’t work himself into a tizzy. When that happened, he was likely to carry on until dinner service started and John had things he had to do. He may have just been a tiny cog in the whole group of people that made up Atlantis Enterprises but he was important cog. This building just happened to be his little slice of the pie. It irritated his father to no end that he wouldn’t take over the mantle of his family’s legacy but he was perfectly fine working for next to nothing with this cheeky start-up dabbling in a number of different types of business. That was worth far more than money.

Money was nice to keep up the playboy front he employed, though. It would have been nice to have more of it but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when there were other things to complain about.

“What would you have had me do, Woolsey? Invite them to stay for dinner so we could talk it out like civilized people?” When Woolsey narrowed his eyes, John tried not to imitate the movement but he had just as much reason to be irritated as the man in front of him. “Look, we took care of it.”

“But we have two less tables and four less chairs for service tonight. Tomorrow?” He shrugged his shoulders, his expression a mix of despair and irritation. “We may not have any place for them to sit. This type of furniture isn’t made overnight.”

Before he was forced to come up with an answer to what he also saw as a pretty big problem, Teyla joined them. “Sir, the phone’s for you.”

“I still need to get tonight’s menu from Ronon and-.”

John saw his opening and grabbed at it before Woolsey decided to do the delegating. “You go and get the phone. I’ll go get the menu.” 

It might have been said that he ran from the room but he preferred to think of it as getting a jump on his current project. While he couldn’t cook to save his life, John was aware of that the best part of the kitchen was the tiny alcove where the desserts were stored until they were plated. Not only did he have a view of the kitchen without getting in the way of the action but he could still snack his way through the unique dishes that were created every day.

“So,” John paused as he swung himself up to sit on the wide counter. There was a spice cake cooling but it hadn’t been cut yet so he was going to have to wait until he was offered a piece before he started sneaking bites. “I’m thinking we build a bonfire with the furniture. Do we have everything for s’mores?”

Ronon let out a small laugh as he went about his frantic pace, making last minute preparations for the evening. “We’re a high-end restaurant so no, nothing on hand. I suppose, if we have some downtime tonight, I could whip you up some homemade marshmallows.”

“See, that’s what I like about you, Dex. You always have an answer. Too bad you don’t have a decent solution for this current crisis. Perhaps you’re a carpenter on your days off and have just never mentioned it?”

“Lorne, have you finished with the squib? I want to check it when you’re done.” Wiping his hands on a towel that he kept in his back pocket, Ronon turned around and gave John his full attention. “Not a carpenter. Sorry. But people don’t come here for the chairs they sit in. They come for the food.”

“Right but they-” 

It was like lightning striking the top of his head as he realized the perfect solution. His hair could have been on fire from an actual strike but he didn’t care. As if he was being beaten back by a horde of space vampires, John jumped off the counter and ran from the kitchen.

Three hours later, he had nearly all his ducks in a row. Thankfully, the duck he needed was due to arrive at the restaurant at any time. Grabbing up a clean shirt, he went off to make himself presentable for his least favorite part of the job.

Larrin was every bit as gorgeous tonight as she ever was. Her hair was artfully curled so that it didn’t look as if it had ever been sculpted and her outfit was sleek and sexy without being over the top, as was so often done in this town. She drew everyone’s gaze as Chuck led her through the main room.

John waited at the table that she always asked for, ready with his widest smile. If this didn’t work, he had other options but this was so easily presented to him that he would have been a fool to turn down fate’s gift. That meant he was going to smile instead of hiding away in his office.

“John Sheppard. And here I thought you’d been trying your hardest to run the other way when you saw me.”

After kissing her cheeks and pushing in her chair, he took the seat across from her. “I know you’re waiting for someone,” which was the only tactful way he could think to describe one of the litany of men who was sure to be straggling in to accompany Larrin during dinner, “but I’d love to run something by you. I promise only to take a few minutes of your time.”

Larrin’s smile was guarded as she tried to figure out John’s angle but she nodded him on. With a grateful smile, he ran through his idea.

***

The evening went by in a familiar blur as Ronon concentrated on the food and nothing else. He vaguely remembered seeing John again as he’d come in to steal a plate of food away sometime in the middle of everything. All that really mattered was that food got cooked well and on a plate for the people to enjoy.

Everyone was on edge as the clock ticked closer to midnight. Would the goons be back, as they’d promised? Would they have a job when the clock struck a minute past? Whispers were flying around the kitchen where normally there was concentrated silence. Any other night, he would have frowned at this but he let it slide tonight.

When John sauntered through to nab a piece of cake, the staff held their collective breath. “You got those marshmallows for me?” he asked with a nonchalance that only John Sheppard could use with any consistency.

Ronon shook his head as he replied, “If we’re lighting it up tonight, you’ll need something with more of a bang. Something that this place is known for.” He held out a bottle of Satedan wine, known around the kitchen as _Grave Digger_. It was used sparingly on things like desserts that were going to flamed or in their award-winning beef tenderloin dishes.

As the clock struck the time, Woolsey opened the front door and stuck his head out into the street. “All clear,” he hollered even though the rest of the staff was right behind him, their hands full of chairs and tables.

“How about we make sure we own our next set of furniture, free and clear. Okay?” John asked as he huffed past the general manager with his load. Ronon grunted in agreement as he went by with double the amount of everyone else. As he dumped it into the growing pile of debris, he took a deep breath of the fetid Las Vegas air. 

“Ready?” the chef asked when everyone was ringed around the pile. With a booming yell, full of both pleasure to get rid of the tension from the evening and irritation that his world had been rocked on it’s axis, Ronon threw the full bottle of alcohol into the very middle of the wood.

A yell alerted them to the presence of their enemies. “What are you doing?”

John indicated the stack of tables and chairs with the wave of a hand. “Here you go. Take it all. We don’t need it anymore.”

“You still owe us, Sheppard. You can’t expect us to walk away without product.”

“Walk away without product? No, we’re letting you have it all. We’re done here, though. Tell Michael we don’t want to see him around here anymore. He’s not welcome. We’ll make do without any of his product... or his ugly face.”

One of the thugs growled and surged forward, held back with a hand on his shoulder. The leader growled out a curse before visibly composing himself. “I’ll let him know what you said. _Everything_ that you said.”

“You do that.” John nodded toward the front door and the staff walked back inside. “We’re done here.”

When he was the last one on the street, he flicked a small flame toward the pile. In a matter of seconds, the whole pile was a blazing inferno. Without a backward glance, he made his way into the building.

They were only halfway through the night, though. Even though they were free of their previous nuisance, they still had a whole other hurdle to get over. If they couldn’t stay open as a restaurant, it wouldn’t matter that they had succeeded in thwarting Michael’s plans.

***

Twenty-four hours later, John found himself standing in almost the exact same place as he had the night before. The difference was that he was on the other side of their problems. He also appeared to be in a whole other room. A fresh coat of oil darkened the floor to a near-black sheen, setting off the white sheets of material that were hung from the ceiling so that it looked as if they were in a huge tent. This was only accentuated by brightly colored cushions set out around low tables.

The dishes were still the same but the pretension in the menu had been stripped away with the furniture. Instead of trying to force Ronon’s Satedan dishes to fit with the upper crust feel of their last enterprise, they were now showcasing them all as they would have been back in his home.

Best of all, Larrin came through in a pinch and made her calls so that everyone who was anyone had come out tonight to try the _new_ restaurant in town. Some had even come in their interpretation of what they thought Satedan dress might be. As braziers burned around the room, the subtle smoke giving everything a dream-like quality, the dinner became an event that no one would quickly forget.

Ronon came out from his place in the kitchen, wiping his hands on the towel that he always wore at his waist. He had actually come out several times throughout the evening as if he didn’t quite believe what he was told and had to see it for himself. His attention was caught by the new sign shining from the front window, as if he’d just seen it although he’d been there when it had been hung earlier in the day.

“Flame?”

John shrugged even though he couldn’t quite hide his satisfied smile. “It felt right. We went through the flame and came out the other side. Better, I think.”

“Definitely.” Ronon clapped John on the shoulder, the pride of the night evident in his voice. “I’ve still got some of the sugared berries left over. You want some?”

“Are you bribing me with dessert?”

When he shook his head, several of his dreads came loose to hang on the side of his head. That, and the unguarded smile, made him look like a much younger version of himself and less like the stern task master that he was, night after night, in the kitchen. “A bribe? Most definitely. You’ve got a new front of house. I need a new kitchen.”

John’s laugh was hearty and loud. “A new kitchen? I want more than berries. Do you still have some of that fish?”

“For you? I have two pieces.”


End file.
